“And on this old and well-worn phrase you excuse a confessed heretic?” said Moretti, with a sneer.

“This old and well-worn phrase is the saying of our Master,” answered the Cardinal firmly, “And it is as true as the truth of the sunshine which, in its old and well-worn way, lights up this world gloriously every morning!  I would stake my very life on the depth and the truth of Vergniaud’s penitence!  Who, seeing and knowing the brand of disgrace he has voluntarily burnt into his own social name and honour, could doubt his sincerity, or refuse to raise him up, even as our Lord would have done, saying, ’Thy sins be forgiven thee!  Go, and sin no more!’?”

Moretti’s furtive eyes disappeared for a moment under his discoloured eyelids, which quivered rapidly like the throbbings in the throat of an angry snake.  Before he could speak again however, Vergniaud interposed.

“Why trouble His Eminence with my crimes or heresies?” he said quietly, “I am grateful to him from my soul for his gentleness and charity of judgment—­but I need no defence—­not even from him.  I am answerable to God alone!—­neither to Church nor Creed!  It was needful that I should speak as I spoke to-day—­”

“Needful to scandalize the Church?” demanded Moretti sharply.

“The Church is not scandalized by a man who confesses himself an unworthy member of it!” returned Vergniaud, “It is better to tell the truth and go out of the Church than to remain in it as a liar and a hypocrite.”

“According to your own admission you have been a liar and a hypocrite for twenty-five years!” said Moretti bitterly, “You should have made your confession before, and have made it privately.  There is something unnatural and reprehensible in the sudden blazon you have made to the public of your gross immorality.”

“‘A sudden blazon’ you call it,—­” said the Abbe, “Well, perhaps it is!  But murder will out, no matter how long it is kept in.  You are not entirely aware of my position, Monseigneur.  Have you the patience to hear a full explanation?”

“I have the patience to hear because it is my duty to hear,” replied Moretti frigidly, “I am bound to convey the whole of this matter to His Holiness.”

“True!  That is your duty, and who shall say it is not also your pleasure!” and Vergniaud smiled a little.  “Well!—­Convey to His Holiness the news that I, Denis Vergniaud, am a dying man, and that knowing myself to be in that condition, and that two years at the utmost, is my extent of life on this planet, I have taken it seriously into my head to consider as to whether I am fit to meet death with a clean conscience.  Death, Monsignor, admits of no lying, no politeness, no elegant sophistries!  Now, the more I have considered, the more I am aware of my total unfitness to confront whatever may be waiting for me in the Afterwards of death—­(for without doubt there is an afterwards,)—­and being conscious of having done at least one grave